


i want to know my fate

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dialogue Heavy, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: he wonders if he misses his dream





	i want to know my fate

A beautiful morning greets him. Not exactly quiet, but pensive and lingering in the edges of Yongen-Jaya. For too long he'd drifted between walls and door corners, trying to pick apart the seams of the universe and unfold it in his palm. To find what had captivated the sun to rise so steadily.

He hadn't known death before that.

Initially, the ringing is loud. Like two bees, the sound decides to pierce his earlobes and die there. Then, his eardrums burst: all too similar to a sharp metal toothpick climbing from his stomach to his brain. The pressure grows so tight that the blood which seeps out is a blessing rather than grievance. His vision is blurred, too, instantly so as if his eyesight were the equivalent of a light switch: normal to nothing. The blood vessels on his pupil make themselves known and he is brain dead on impact. Only fear remains and thinking to stumble away doesn't happen coherently. He is incapable of registering what has happened and he is too scared to touch his forehead and see his fingers stained with blood. It is then that he should black out and wake up in a hospital bed- or not wake up at all.

He doesn't pass out. It's a slow, agonising death wherein he already died. The pain sets in after his first round of adrenaline subsides and the pain is unbearable, like waking up in surgery to find the anesthesia hasn't worked and your doctor is cutting a hunk of flesh out of your stomach. His scalp burns against his brain. How awful it is cannot be described. It is so defeaningly painful and with each beat, the heart throbs like no other and stings with each laboured intake. When Akira gets shot, he suffers. And then his eyes jolt open. He breathes out. Nothing wants to come into his body anymore; not light, not life, not air, not dust.

His hair is clean. His skin isn't stained with blood.

His face is untouched but he still feels like his skull is swelling. There's a split in his lip from chewing too hard and the attic doesn't smell right. There are no bruises around his wrists. He sits up in bed and swings his feet to the floor; there is only silence, and when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, no one is there.

On such a beautiful morning, too.

It takes a full three days and a half for anyone to show up, and at least Sojiro apologises. Until then it was like seeing Leblanc for the first time, but from the inside out.

A shabby estate with the traits of roadkill.

When the bell did ring and Akira looked up from his place in the furthest booth (staring at the vase of flowers, he'd noticed how they kept wilting no matter how many times he changed the water), Sojiro hugs him. Something Akira's father just didn't do. Yes, hand-holding and piggy-back rides, and clutching to his fathers thumb because his hands were too small for anything else at the time, but no hugging. He didn't like how scratchy his face felt anyway.

He learns in those few seconds that Sojiro is wiry and comforting, not unlike a grandfather but too important to be brushed off to something so mediocre.

The others can't look him in the eye, at first.

Ann hugs him, to Akira's own disgust. She digs her manicured nails into his skin and clutches him against her chest. He wants to vomit down the front of her shirt, but he lets her stay. She'd mentioned more than once how maternal she felt over everyone. He hadn't mentioned anything enough.

Ryuji claps a hand on his back with a fairly decent smile and Yusuke seems content but sharp. Futaba sits without a word, Morgana bundeled in her arms. Haru greets him normally and slides into the booth with the ugly flowers- Makoto slips in beside her with a nod.

Akira knows what they're thinking. He knows why he's the only one standing. Morgana doesn't even glance his way.

"The plan worked out as well as it could", Makoto says finally, albeit a little put-off, "We just need to pass the time." It's too unlike her usual professionalism. Haru hums, eyeing the flowers in front of her and turning the vase to trace its design.

"We have all worked very hard, we deserve it. Yusuke has an art exhibition coming up, I believe?", Yusuke nods, "then maybe we should-"

"Sorry", Ryuji is as unapologetic as someone could be, "Sorry, but _fuck_. We're just going to act like nothing happened?"

 _Nothing happened_ , Akira thinks. _Everything that was supposed to happen_ happened _except you all avoided me for days. Shunned me like I was nothing. Like I hadn't risked my life for you._

"I agree", Makoto's edge is back, clipping off any compassion in her words. "You-... I didn't want to consider our own leader being compromised, but-"

"I'm not compromised", Akira forces out. At least, he's not in the way they think. Morgana's seen too much, he realises quietly. He's seen too many misunderstood panic attacks and too many seconds in Mementos that were spent somewhere else- as if his soul had been ripped from his body mid battle, only to jerk back to life a second from being scathed. To his luck, the cat doesn't say anything.

"You and Akechi", Ann's lips purse uncomfortably, "We agreed, as a _group_ , that we'd only get him so comfortable that we could get to his phone. You _know_ that. You _prepositioned_ that, Akira."

"I know."

"Then why did you fuck him?", Ryuji snarks and Makoto's glare snaps to him, audible in the room.

"Ryuji."

"No", Futaba rushes, "No I want to know, too. Do you really think that sociopath _loves_ you? That he wasn't just using you?"

"He's not a sociopath", but his refrain is tired and defeated. To them, a stranger is speaking.

"You let someone you knew was planning your murder into your _home_ ", Futaba continues, " _my_ home. _Sojiro's_. You let him into your _life_. That says enough about you."

"And now he's out there and knows we're out here thinking we have the head on him. We _don't._ We lost that chance." Ryuji's spit lands on the floor. His roots are dark behind his ears and Ann touches his shoulder gently.

"Arguing will get us nowhere",Yusuke levels the group with a look, "Haru was right. We should take the time we have to rehabilitate and prepare."

"Let's avoid meeting publicly like this again", for some reason, it hurts the most that Morgana still hasn't even turned to him, "We'll use the chat only. Understood?"

Makoto stands first.

"I'll be taking my leave, then. Farewell."

Haru's mood seems to dampen slightly. She's put the flowers out onto the table and water already collects into the wood as the stems drip. There's a dip in the leather from where Queen sat.

"Yeah, whatever." Ryuji leaves briskly and Akira barely feels the shove to his shoulder. _You're supposed to be my best friend_ , he doesn't say. Ann keeps her head down as she leaves and Morgana resigns himself to Futaba's arms. Yusuke gives him a small bow.

The bell stops ringing, and Haru sighs. She starts to pluck unruly leaves from the flowers and pinch the thorns away- her gloves already look worn.

"I'm a friend of Mako-chan's", she says, "Of Ann's, of everyone's. I realise we havent been as close as we could because of the circumstances surrounding my entry into the group and how pressed we were for time... but, please, sit."

It's a nice excuse, Akira knows. It's a nice way of her apologising for something that was his fault. He was the one who didn't care enough.

"I'll help you", he answers, sliding into the seat across from her. He doesn't know the first thing about floristry but she grins, sparkly and sickening.

"Okay."

Objectively, Akira can see what Makoto sees in Haru. He knows it's more than pretty features.

"I apologise if this seems invasive, but I noticed you don't like to be touched. Please tell me if I'm crossing any of your boundaries."

His tongue gets caught against his teeth and he stares at her with wide eyes. Is that sweat beading on his forehead? Is it blood?

"I-", _no no no_ , "okay."

"May I call you Akira?"

"... Yes."

"Thank you", he wonders how she smiles so much, "Would you please pass me that daffodil?" She could have easily reached over and grabbed them herself, but she didn't. He hands the flower over and she stares at it thoughtfully.

"Daffodils usually symbolise rebirth and new beginnings. Many people strongly associate it with spring. I like to think Akechi-kun would like them."

"You don't seem phased talking about him."

She glances at him, analytical but not unkind. "Should I?" Akira finds his mouth dry.

"He killed your father, Haru." She folds the petals of the daffodil slightly before sliding it back into the vase, picking up a few long threads of drying lavender.

"I know", she states simply, "I've thought about that a lot, but I also can't help but think that everything must happen for a reason. I don't hate, Akira. You can't spend your life in hate."

"I've... I've been trying."

"I know." If Akira understands anything about maternal instinct, it is that Haru radiates it. Ann smothers it, his own mother trails it, and Haru is comfortable within it. She tilts her head. "I see that. More people see you than you think. Am I wrong?"

He clenches his hands against himself and feels his voice crack before it's even left his throat. "He was the first one to say it to my face. He was the first one to just- to _see_ it, _recognise_ it and move on like it was nothing. Like he still wanted to get to know me."

"That's what you needed at the time. It might have been what he needed, too." She slides the vase aside. How did she make the flowers look so bright? "Now you must choose whether you are going to mourn him or yourself."

"He isn't dead."

"Neither are you", she holds her hand out, palm up, in the centre of the table. The colour of her glove has changed at the fingertips from the damp flora and he hesitates. When he does place his hand there, she holds him firmly. " _Neither are you._ What was in that room was a ghost and nothing more, Akira. That bullet did not go through your head."

He doesn't pull away. She doesn't stop.

"You mustn't let the past take your clarity. Your past trauma is using this fresh wound as an entry way- you can't allow that to happen."

"What do I do?"

"Speak with yourself. Speak with him. Speak and let yourself be heard- be around those who love you and whom you love in return." He doesn't even try to reach for a deprecating smile.

"There aren't a lot of those people left."

'There are more than you think." She pauses. "Have I overstepped?"

"No", Akira replies immediately, "No, thank you." She squeezes his hand and beams, pulling away to stand.

"That makes me happy. I'll leave you to it and check on the others- they don't hate you, you know."

"They might." Haru hugs her scarf around her shoulders, heels clicking beneath her.

"They just don't understand how it is to love someone. Yusuke is certainly on your side no matter how much he doesn't voice it. I like to believe us three are in understandment more than the others... not to exclude them, but we have all loved those with bitter hearts despite rational thought."

"You're right."

"We're only human", she shrugs and smiles down at him, holding out her pinky finger. The hem of her sleeve is an intricate lace. Akira stares quizzically and she laughs, bright and flickering.

"A promise", is all she offers. He accepts.

"Rest well, Akira", Haru's squinting at him, "Try to listen to your heartbeat when it gets bad. Give to yourself now what you’ll give others in future."

It could almost be funny. Here he is in where it began, it's late in the day, a clear sky outside with a sun that’s shying away, lighting up the street outside, and a person from across the city- or maybe a minute away- compells him to send out an SOS.

_please tell me you're okay_

Right now, he wants to get out of the cafe, go to a different place. _Is the sun above you there?_ , he thinks. _Setting maybe? What part of the universe can you see above you right now? Think of all these good people who’ve come back to you here, who, without knowing you, care._

It's hard to convince yourself, anybody knows.

**_I'm okay. Are you?_ **

He chokes something out into his palm, fingers shaking around his phone and legs struggling to force themselves up to a stand. He doesn't bother locking Leblanc, no one comes down the street anyway.

_being dead isn't all it's made out to be_  
_i need to see you_

**_We can't_ **

_Walk and walk and breathe deeply_ , his brain recites. _Tonight, look at the moon, it will be full. Observe as it changes the sky: you change. You change._ The blood flushes his legs and his footsteps grow louder in his ears. Louder and louder and louder. He creates thunder. Thunder is a byproduct of rapid expansion of the air surrounding the path of a lightning bolt. The heated air is compressed, raising the air from 10 to 100 times the normal atmospheric pressure. The compressed air explodes outward from the channel, forming a shock wave of compressed particles in every direction. Blood drips from his nose onto the phone screen and he smears it with his thumbs.

_please_

_Look around you._ Akira's feet stumble on the steps down to the train. _Breathe deeply again. Let things move on and change. They will._

**_I'll meet you at the station_ **

The train is stuffy and hot and smells like students after track practice. The hood around his face feels too rough and his shoulders feel heavier without his bag, without _Morgana_. His fingers keep shaking. He sweats.

He feels tall and awkward and uncomfortable in his skin. His whole body is clenched.

"Look at you."

It is terrifying.

Goro's clothes smell like rain. Akira's hands desperately seek purchase at his sides and he lets out a heavy breath into the detective's neck, hearing it hitch into a sob. It is embarrassing. Gloved hands smooth over his shoulders.

"Your guardian will be worried if you stay out too long."

"He won't."

"Oh?"  
  
His lungs give way to an uneasy breath and he grips the hem of Goro's sweater, pressing his forehead harder to the others collar.

"Missed you. You didn't delete my number."

"You thought I would?"

"More than thought."

Goro pulls back and Akira almost whines in displeasure as his head is tilted away and glasses pulled off. "You should stop wearing these", he says, tucking the frames into the pocket of Akira's hoodie. "It makes it harder to look."

_For me or for you?_

"Let's go back to yours", Akira tries. "We can watch one of your shit 60s movies."

Goro laughs breathily, cupping his face in both hands and stroking his cheeks. "Not tonight, baby."

Before, when the detective would look at him, it was something Akira had to learn to swallow down. He was forced into the jaws of something predatory and kept a coy smile. _Push the boundaries._

That isn't what they are.

He feels himself regress further and further into the quiet of his brain: the cloudy mistakes of standing outside and the evening chill. Goro threads his fingers through Akira's curls and his hood folds around his neck- the cold nips quietly. The apartment isn't far at all. It's familar and distant, like walking into the kitchen late at night and for once not being weary of the dark. For once of many hidden times, Akira gets to keep his head down and let someone else lead. It feels so nice. He closes his eyes.

It's a position they'd usually adopt on Goro's couch after trips to Mementos. Vertically, publically, it has too many sharp edges- but he'll take in what he is given. He smells the same. He doesn't smell like blood.

"Did it hurt?", Goro asks quietly. "I keep wondering if it hurt."

From where they stand, they can see the opening alley of the Red Light District, begging to be adored in a fading way. There are cobwebs stringing above them but they're hidden. They're alone.

"So much", Akira replies. "It hurt so much." Goro twitches.

"They dont realise what they've put you through. It's disgusting."

"Had to be done."

"Now isn't the time to accept being a martyr", shadow curls around Goro's frown. "They're supposed to be your friends."

"They-"

He stops himself. _They'll never see me the same. They've figured out what I am because of you. They disgust me._

Goro tugs his fringe away from his forehead gently.

"I wish I could change your mind", Akira admits. Goro kisses his temple.

"You more than anyone know how this is."

"I do."

"I will kill him."

"Is that justice?"

" _Isn't_ it?", Goro tilts his head and squints. It's different to how Haru does it. "Everyone he has affected, indirectly and directly, is a victim."

"So are you."

"So are _you_."

"That's different."

"You're saying you wouldn't kill Shido?"

"For what he's done to you, I wouldn't hesitate."

"Don't be dramatic."

"I... aha. You're right."

Goro kisses his temple again. "You haven't slept. Have you eaten?" Akira shakes his head and Goro makes an annoyed sound. "You'll be the death of me."

"I feel like everything is piling up again", Akira rubs his cold nose on Goro's jaw. "Everything just keeps piling up and flooding in."

"It is. Everything that was in your brain before all of this was locked away because the trauma was too much for your emotional capabilities. You should have never become a Phantom Thief. You were never once fit to become a leader of a vigilante group, Akira. You're unstable enough. All of this has hit that trauma over and over until everything spilled out- you've intentionally triggered yourself all this time because you're convinced you're not going to feel anything else otherwise."

"You're right."

"How didn't you kill Kamoshida? I imagine that was tempting."

"Ryuji was there", Akira shakes his head. "If they'd known-"

"Breathe."

"I am."

"You're not."

He squeezes his eyes shut. Scrunches his fist against Goro's chest.

"It's hard to stay conscious."

"I know."

"Why did you say what you did? You knew they were watching."

"I needed you to know."

"You knew it wasn't me sitting there. I _told_ you."

"It felt like it was." They're almost arguing. There's almost ferocity.

"What's going to happen now?", Akira whispers. "What do I do? What are _you_ going to do?"

"You need to do what you think is right for you and your friends."

"I don't want that responsibility."

"I know you don't", Goro winces, "I wish you didn't have to have it. You don't realise how much I wish that for you- but it's the only thing you have left to do."

"And after that?"

_After that..._

Goro looks away, puts more space between them. "A part of me wants to think it will end there."

"There'll be something else."

"You think so, too?"

"There always is."

 _Take me_ , Akira thinks, to whatever is out there. _Just take me._

"Life doesn't like to comply", Goro's expression changes to something unreadable.

"Death might."

It's like a candlelight has been lifted to his cheek.

"Is that something which interests you?"

Is it sweat or blood pooling down his back?

"What?"

"Dying, Akira."

He swallows. He can feel how dry his lips are.

"I thought it wasn't."

"And then?"

"And then you shot me in the head."

The results are in: Akira Kurusu is a dead man walking.

"What happens will happen", Goro pulls away fully, his hands firmly wrapped around Akira's wrists. "Fate rules us all in the end, no matter our beliefs."

"Tell me one more time", the rain is too afraid to pour and fire singes the ground beneath their feet. A train leaves in six minutes and there's a desperation he displays on his chest like a fucking glowstick. An ugly firework. "Tell me what you said in the interrogation room. I want to hear you say it again."

Goro looks through him as if he is made of glass.

"No, Akira."

November's bitter taste stays in his mouth until he stands under the shower head and lets searing hot water travel the lengthy insides of his throat. He tears off his nails, afraid of what they could do, and keeps his head under the pillow. Keeps his feet covered by socks.

If he focuses hard enough, he can still hear the gunshot.


End file.
